


Fear

by QueenWuppy



Category: Marvel
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Established Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, The violence is implied and daydreamed, This is not "graphic depictions of violence" becuase it's not graphic, Wedding Rings, fuck hydra, only the h part of h/c, the Winter Soldier as a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 14:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12390261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWuppy/pseuds/QueenWuppy
Summary: Bucky is dragged through a corridor and is put in his chair and wiped. That it, thats the whole ficFor the WinterIron discord's October Key Exchange (week one)





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bill_Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/gifts).



> For Bill, who gave me the wonderful prompt: Fear; and thanks to Aray for spell checking.
> 
> When I'm afraid, I laugh, because it's funny.

There’s drugs in his system, he thinks. There has to be. Otherwise, he’d be able to fight back, as he’s dragged through clinically white hallways, tiled walls, linoleum floors and fluorescent white lights.

He’d be able to plant a foot on the ground, slip part way out of the grip of the guy on his right, throw his weight a bit and and end up with the muscle on the floor.

He could grab one of their guns and make a run for the door - he’d probably make it, too.

He is shaking, and for a while after he comes to, he assumes it’s the mix they’ve given him, probably a bit stronger than usual to account for his rising tolerance.

It doesn’t take him long before he knows he was wrong.

He can’t talk, and his limbs are weak and he can’t stop shaking, and it’s not because he’s been drugged.

He’s just terrified.

For a moment, he feels like laughing. He’s been through this so many times, he really shouldn’t be afraid anymore. But he is.

This hallway is familiar. He knows it in his bones, but cannot remember, like a song he can sing, but couldn’t speak the lyrics.

They’re taking him to the chair. He couldn’t tell you the directions, but he could walk there. He has walked there. He used to do it all the time. He drops his head down to look at anything that isn’t where they’re going, and he can see his hands, and his hand, and it reminds him of why he… doesn’t want to be here.

His flesh arm is bruised. It is even bleeding slightly, though he is watching it clot. His metal arm is very slightly dented, just above his elbow, toward his chest.

And he can see the gold, exactly where it is supposed to be, the uppermost plates around his ring finger.

It’s his wedding ring. He sucks in a breath. Tony will come for him. Tony will tear apart the world, looking for him.

Bucky looks back up at the men dragging him along the floor. At the four guards with automatic rifles pointed at his face and chest. At the lady with a dart gun and what for anyone else would be a lethal dose of alyosoldine but would just knock him out. He imagines what Tony will do. He can feel his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Tony, with his violence and ruthlessness that only comes out when someone he loves is hurt. Tony with his cunning and performative arrogance. God, he’s so beautiful. Bucky can already see the fires that Tony will make.

They turn the last corner, and they drag him into the laboratory with the white and silver chair. Tony will turn this place to ashes, and will pull him out of this place and kiss him with blood dripping down his armor, and the smell of burning flesh will cling to them both like a lover. Bucky can feel his mouth curling up, and he can see one of the guards cringe away from him.

They stand him up upright and turn him around. Tony will laugh in delight and won’t let him out of his sight for days, more likely months.

And then he will raze the world, so it can never happen again.

He is grinning now, and they shove him roughly back into the chair. It makes him ache all over.

He starts laughing then, and it clearly unnerves them, because a lab techie immediately shoves down the helmet, and the guards clip the locks around his ankles and wrists. They’re not the heavy set, and that makes him laugh harder.

He’s still laughing when the lady with the darts presses the start button.

 

 

***

 

 

When it becomes alert, it immediately is aware it is in its chair.

It can hear the laboratory technicians talking to its handlers. They are talking about its programming. It is being scheduled for a full recalibration later this evening; it has only had a wipe and it needs a calibration before the Iron Man arrives.

It… can feel something in its chest. Something that is tugging at its lungs, and its lips are being forced wide. This is an internal feature, its body is doing something odd.

A huffing breath is pulled from its mouth. And another. Its chest spasms. Its chest keeps spasming. It inhales sharply. It can hardly breathe.

A technician turns to look at it.

Its throat aches, and it lets out a loud, screeching “Haaah!”

The other technicians and its handlers look at it, now, too.

“Is it… laughing?” one of the technicians asks. He looks concerned. “Has it gone rabid?”

It _is_ laughing. It should not be laughing. Its eyes are blurring. There is fire shooting down its veins and its heart is pounding. It is like a live wire, sparking rapidly and painfully. Its face feels sticky and damp and something drips into its mouth and it tastes of salt.

The technicians move to secure its restraints, and one of them roughly sticks a needle in its arm. It lets them. Its vision starts blacking out.

It keeps laughing.


End file.
